


The Champagne Flute

by anonymousmadame2911



Series: The Blue Hippo and the Pink Pussycat [5]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom
Genre: Actor Chris Evans, Black Reader, F/M, Stripper Reader, burlesque reader, woman of color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:17:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911





	The Champagne Flute

Tonight was the night you’d debut your new routine. In the past year, a lot had changed. Sasha had knocked her interview out of the park and joined Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez’s campaign to become senator. Lucy stayed at the Blue Hippo still. The manager had made you the headline act. He hired a new dancer after Sasha put in her 2-weeks. You checked that everything had been set up properly on stage. You had a massive prop that looked like a champagne flute. You made sure there were enough boxes of champagne to fill the glass. For tonight, anyone who came into the Blue Hippo would see your routine for free and receive a free glass of champagne that you hand delivered. This was a test-run for paying customers. You wanted to work out any kinks before anyone actually paid $5000 for the dance.   
By a small miracle, you had been walking up 2nd Avenue, when you saw the sign for a hole-in-the-wall dance store. You needed new shoes for your Latin ballroom competition. You popped in to see what they could offer. You had not been expecting to find any leotards in your skin tone. Usually, you’d buy them online and they never matched. You inevitably returned every single one. You stuck to black or white. This store was the Holy Grail of dance clothes for black girls. You bought a leotard that fit you perfectly, matched you perfectly and you put in orders for more. You hustled to get back to your apartment. You sewed in a push-up bra that matched the leotard and you hand-sewed on crystals all over. The finished product made you look like you were completely nude, covered only in diamonds. Perfect.   
You stopped by the DJ booth. He had everything set up. The spotlight was working perfectly. You walked to the back of the kitchen where all of the champagne flutes were lined up perfectly. You walked backstage and peaked through the curtains.   
“Another full house. You did it again.” Lucy whispered.  
“Yeah.”  
“Nervous?”  
“Duh.”  
“You’re going to be amazing. You always are.”  
“Thanks Lucy. And at least no one paid for tonight. And! Everyone gets free champagne.”  
“True. But you’re always amazing.”  
“Is that…?”  
You hadn’t seen him in over a year. You felt like so much had change, but everything was the same. He was broader across the shoulders, more muscular, arms bigger than your head, longer hair, but still with that beard.   
“No. Nonono. I can’t.”  
“You can’t what…?”  
“Did you see him?”  
“No…who are you talking about?”  
“Remember that guy who pretended to be Chris Evans. You and Sasha were all up on his dick? Remember? Y’all brought him to the Pink Pussycat?”  
“No…”  
“This was about a year ago…”  
“Maybe?”  
“Anyways, he’s here. You can do it! You can do the routine! You know it inside and out.”  
“Are you crazy? I don’t know it. I’ve only watched you do it. But I certainly don’t do it. This isn’t like the movies, where I miraculously know how to do the routine without having rehearsed it.”  
“I can’t. Oh my God. I can’t.”  
“If you don’t do it…you know you’re never gonna get another chance like this every again, right?”  
“What’s going on girls?”  
“She’s trying to back out of the routine.”  
“No. I—”  
“I’m taking a chance on you and you’re going to back out now?”  
“No. I’m not backing out. Can I just do it tomorrow?”  
“What? I put out fliers for tonight, not tomorrow night. I put a lot of money into this because of you. Because you hounded me for weeks. Now you don’t want to do it.”  
“I’m not backing out. I’m just…uh…postponing it for 24 hours.”  
“What am I supposed to do about all the advertisements that went up for tonight?”  
You were speechless. Frozen. Seeing him again had sent a shock wave through your system. After you gave him that lap dance, you hadn’t seen him again. You couldn’t back out of the show. You knew you were on the cusp of major success. This could change your life.   
“Whose going to pay me back for all of that champagne that you insisted on? Listen. Be a professional. The show must go on, break a leg, and all of that. You’re doing this?”  
“Yes.”  
“See you out there.”  
You change into your evening gown. Underneath would be your sex-pot leotard. The naked leotard. You heard the DJ introduce your act and the opening bars of your song. You slide onto the stage and wiggle out of your evening dress with your back to the audience. You sit on the edge of the champagne flute and swirl the champagne. You wiggle out of the tank top and boy shorts. You slide into the champagne. A number of guys in the audience watch you with their mouths slightly open. You giggle and splash the ones in the front row while you continue your performance. You wiggle out of the naked leotard down to titty tassels and a thong. This was a great time to thank God that you had small boobs, because you could let them out without any problems. Your song came to an end and you handed out the flutes of champagne. Some guys requested champagne directly from the glass you’d been swimming in. Finally, you emerge from the glass, dripping wet.   
“You did great. See? You already have three bookings.”  
“Three?”  
“Well, one has paid in full and one has paid a deposit. The third wants you to go to their apartment to perform. I told them we don’t do house calls.”  
“Cool. Did they set a date for when they wanted it?”  
“One is next weekend. The second is next month. Someone’s grandfather’s birthday party.”  
“Weird.”  
The manager disappears into the audience to make sure his customers are happy and everything running smoothly. You change into your leggings and a velvet bodysuit and go and meet the customers.   
“Honey, you were incredible. Did you choreograph that all yourself?” an elderly woman asks.  
“Yes. I choreograph everything myself. 20 years of dance training.”  
“You should go on So You Think You Can Dance—”  
“Or Dancing with the Stars!”  
“I’ll think about it. Thank you.”  
Over the week, you had time to perfect your routine. You felt iffy about sliding into the champagne glass and wanted something sexy for the entrance and exit from it. You felt like going into a slapstick comedy fall into the champagne would lighten the overall mood of the dance. The routine was already over-the-top sexy and the fall would add a new dimension to it. You added crystals to your thong and your tassels.   
Friday night you did another rehearsal, but this time in the VIP room, where the private dance would be held. Whoever booked this dance had money to spend. At $5000 a performance, non-refundable, with a glass of champagne to be hand delivered by you, this was an expensive dance. You checked the lights, the glasses, and made sure the waiters knew where to send the VIP clients. You went to the dressing room to get ready.   
“You ready? The clients are here.”  
“Absolutely. Get the music started”  
“No cold feet?”  
“Definitely not. They’ll be eating out of the palms of my hands.”  
You had no idea how right you would be. You slinked into the room in your evening gown and wiggled out of it before turning around and nearly falling off the stage. It was the Imposter and two middle-aged white guys. Where was Over-Grown Frat Boy?! Who were these suits? They looked like businessmen. Harmless. Boring. Definitely vanilla with how white they were. Could one of them be his dad? Neither of them really looked like him. But all white people look the same to you. Except for the Imposter. He looked like a piece of meat that you wanted to ride until he ran dry. Until his dick was spitting dust. Until he complained that his balls were sore from cumming to much. You wanted to turn his brain to Jello from all the sex. It was a stroke of brilliance that your routine involved you being wet for half of it. You hand them their champagne.  
“Would you sit with us?” Suit #1 asks.  
“Let me get cleaned up and then I’ll join you.”  
“Sure of course.”  
“Help yourself to some champagne if you like,” you gesture to the prop champagne flute.  
They laugh and you disappear into the dressing room. You spend an inordinately long time changing and cleaning up. You check that every nook and cranny is free and clear of champagne. You check your outfit: black leggings with a gold lame body suit. Perfect. You square your shoulders. Destiny has arrived and you are determined to be the best employee in the history of the Blue Hippo.   
“Thanks for joining us. We won’t keep you long, because we actually have another party to get to. We really loved your routine. We’re executive producers on Chris’s new movie and we want to incorporate it into the movie.”  
“Cool.”  
“Do you have an agent?”  
“Actually, no.”  
“Why don’t you drop by the set on Monday? We’ll talk more in depth about what we’re expecting and hear some of your ideas. Here’s my business card. If you decide you don’t want to be a part of the movie, no harm, no foul. But give me a call in the next 24 hours when you make a decision. It was nice to meet you.”  
Suit #1 and Suit #2 shuffle out of the booth, leaving you and Chris alone together. You’re stunned. A chance to perform in a movie. No way! No. way.   
“Do you work tonight?”  
“Hunh? I’m working now.”  
He shuffled closer to you with his arm around the back of the booth seat.   
“I mean at the Pink Pussycat. Are you working at the Pink Pussycat tonight?”  
“Why? Did you want another lap dance? I could just give you one here.” You stated matter-of-factly.  
The blush bloomed from his cheeks down to his neck.   
“N-no. I m-meant I could give you a ride to the club if you needed one.”  
“Actually I took tonight off.”  
“But…”  
“But I’m taking the subway home and I’m not getting a ride with you. Thanks.”  
You looked up from the business card Suit #1 had given you, straight into those hypnotizing blue eyes.   
“OK. Let’s see that SAG card.”


End file.
